


Child of Faith

by microlm



Category: Octopath Traveler (Video Game)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-28
Updated: 2019-07-28
Packaged: 2020-07-24 19:42:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20019976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/microlm/pseuds/microlm
Summary: At times it was hard for Primrose to keep faith, to believe that the path she walked was the one that her Father would've wished of her. Those were the times she both envied and admired Ophilia.





	Child of Faith

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Hachiya_Camus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hachiya_Camus/gifts).



The first rule she learned was that she could expect no help.

It had been her second day after being taken in as a dancer. 

A girl had been flitting about the old stage with such grace that the dusty curtains lining the back wall was lush as the finest velvets and the cheap glass that adorned her glistened like the gems they imitated. One movement was flowing water; an oasis in the sands. Whatever the crowds were screaming, Primrose could no longer hear as she drank in the girl's dance.

Then the girl fell from the stage.

Primrose blinked.

Broken glass was scattered on the stage. The girl hadn't fallen, she had been knocked off.

The girl was screaming then. She kicked at the hands grabbing her, flailing about in a ugly dance, but there were too many and soon she was stilled.

Primrose ran from the tavern to the nearest guard. _Please_ , she had cried, tugging at their uniforms. 

Surely the guards would rush to the tavern. Surely they could get those men away from the girl.

But the guards merely shrugged. Not their business. It was a matter to be dealt with by whoever held the girl's contract.

So she had run to Helginish, and he struck her across the face hard enough that for the next several minutes as Helginish lectured her about keeping peace in the tavern, her vision was splotched with black.

Later that night, the girl slipped back into the room that the dancers shared. The others had already fallen asleep, or else, like Primrose, they remained still and quiet as the girl made her way back to her bed.

She had a slight limp, and even in the dim moonlight, Primrose could see the vague beginnings of swelling from broken cheekbones. The girl curled under her thin sheet and turned to face the wall.

Primrose found herself mirroring the motion.

 _Foolish girl, you should have stayed in Noblecourt_.

The thought struck like lightning, and Primrose grit her teeth to keep a cry from escaping.

She had chosen this. She was doing this so that she could find the men who killed her father.

 _You had not the slightest idea of what choosing this meant_.

Primrose curled tighter. 

_Faith will be your shield_ , her father had told her. 

So of course she had chosen this; of course this was the correct path. No matter what may lay on the path, it would lead her to the Crow Men without fail.

* * *

Year by year, the rule itself only rooted deeper and deeper into her reality. Nothing came without a catch, and it was better to be the one dangling the deal than to be the one begging for the scrap.

She learned the right smile, the best lilt when whispering sweet words, and how to command the stage until the girl that she had entranced her all those years ago was cast in her shadow. And like that she had Helginish wrapped around her finger.

He still held the contract, but being the favorite left her a little leeway.

At the very least, when a new girl was pulled from the stage, she managed to sway him to protect his investment.

The new girl thought too much of that small act. Soon, Primrose found herself taking her meals with the girl chattering at her side. Resting with the girl sprawled out on the tattered carpet beside her, complaining about customers.

Just like that, Yusufa crept into her life.

Then one night, Primrose found herself shushed by another dancer when her laughter from Yusufa's story grew too loud for sleeping hours.

She was still smiling as she rolled to face away from Yusufa.

It was strange, but not unpleasant.

* * *

It was a day like any other when a man marked with a crow appeared from the blue.

The years came crashing down, breaking through the unfeeling shell she had grown day by day until the boiling rage she felt watching her father die burned every part of her. She was fourteen again, running after the crow men without a second thought.

A vice grip dragged her back to the present.

"Where do you think you're going?" Helgenish hissed. "You're next. Get on stage." His grip tightened, remaining just loose enough to leave her unbruised. "Or do I need to give you a reminder?"

Primrose wanted to knock him away and run after the crow man. Helginish was just a means to an end. She chose this. She could leave.

Instead she remembered the girl so unfavored that she could be dragged away for hours on end. The woman who had tried to run without repaying her debts and was still decorating the gallows, slowly turning into a husk in the dry wind.

There was something wrong with her. Rage bid her to move, but she remained rooted in the spot even after Helgenish released her.

 _Move_ , she begged. Her fingers dug into her palms, her body trembled, and still it would not move. The crow man disappeared into the crowds.

"Prim, if you need to go, I'll distract Helginish."

Primrose lifted her head to see Yusufa looking at her with concern. "Don't. You shouldn't get involved--"

"You've always gotten involved for my sake."

Primrose shook her head. "That was nothing, this--"

"Prim, it's alright," Yusufa said. "I want to help." She took Primrose's hand in hers and squeezed until the trembling stopped. "Go."

It was odd, Primrose thought. All the rage in the world couldn't make her feet run, but just a few words from Yusufa could.

* * *

She tore through the crowds blindly. The further from the tavern, the further back Helgenish's sway faded, and the more the anger surged forward to take its place.

The left crow had been the one to strike first. Primrose had been kneeling behind a shelf in her father's study, searching for the books her father had asked her find.

A man burst into the room in a blur, and before Primrose could even blink, she heard a gasp of pain from her father.

The man with the crow on the right arm and the man with the crow on his neck had entered after that. The right arm had held her father up, and crow's head had dealt the final blow.

But the left crow had struck first, and so he would die first.

Then the right arm would come off. And then lastly, when all the appendages had been torn away, the head would receive her blade.

The left. The right. The head.

The names echoed. Their actions echoed.

And everything else became a blur.

Until suddenly, Primrose found herself knocked back into the ground. She rose without a word and ignored the sharp pain in her right ankle.

Someone called after her, but she continued to head into the caves leading out of the Sunshade.

"--said wait!" Arms slipped around hers and held her in place. Primrose turned to see a small girl with an overwhelmingly large backpack. 

"Tressa, be more gentle!" a woman called. With her white church robes, and her insistence on grasping her staff with both hands, even as she ran, her steps were an awkward trot. Two men trailed behind her, one carrying the largest blade she had ever seen, and the other dressed in fineries with skin burning like he had never properly spent time outside.

"I'm letting you go," the girl with the backpack said, "but don't run off!" True to her word, the girl released her grasp on Primrose's arm. 

Primrose complied, but narrowed her eyes at the four gathered before her. "What do you want?"

"Your foot," the cleric said. "I saw how badly you twisted it when you collided with Sir Olberic at the marketplace. You shouldn't--"

"I'm fine. I need to go."

"Who are you killing?" the swordsman said.

Primrose froze. The cleric was quickly looking back and forth between her and the man with the sword. "S-sir Olberic?"

"I heard her mumbling." He narrowed his eyes at Primrose. "Who are the crow men?"

"...none of your concern," she said cooly. 

"On the contrary, I'd rather not have innocent lives be taken."

Primrose laughed once. It was a bark of laugh, unlike the warm ones that bubbled up when Yusufa said something amusing. "Innocent? That's the last thing they are. So as I said; none of your concern."

She turned. Her ankle was stabbed with another bite of pain and Primrose gritted her teeth. With her reverie broken, the pain was even sharper than before.

She was a way into the cave when she heard rapid footsteps behind her. Primrose drew her knife.

It was the cleric again. The knife slid back into its sheath. 

"It'll only take a minute," the cleric said, hands already clasped in the position of prayer. She called upon the guidance and kindness of Aelfric, and Primrose suppressed another bitter laugh.

The god had never offered her much, but through his proxy, his warmth wrapped itself around her and the pain in her ankle faded.

"The swordsman was right you know," Primrose said as she tested her foot. "I _am_ going to kill someone. Or are you here to try to guide me down another path?"

"Eh?" The cleric jolted in surprise. "I...that's…" Her mumblings trailed off. By the time the other three who had been with her arrived, the cleric still failed to give an answer.

The swordsman, in contrast, gave an answer easily when she asked. "Knowing what you plan, we could hardly leave it be. I want to see with my own eyes who you wish to kill."

Primrose sighed. "Do as you like, but don't expect to stop me."

* * *

The cave opened up to the outskirts of Sunshade. Beyond the canyon walls that surrounded the city, the sun beat down mercilessly from the sky and the glistening sands reflected the heat two fold. Primrose squinted her eyes, desperately searching for a black cloaked figure.

"Thinking of leaving?"

Despite the heat, a chill ran down Primrose's spine.

For a moment she was frozen. The four that had joined her looked up first. 

"Is that the crow man?" she heard the scholar say.

_No._

Stiffly, Primrose turned and followed their gazes up to the ridge. Helgenish. His hired guards surrounded him.

She knew what would come next.

"You _were_ thinking of leaving, weren't you?" Helgenish said, shaking his head. "How fortunate that a little rat could at least tell me that, worthless as she was."

He nodded. The guards parted to allow through two guards dragging a limp body between them.

Primrose's mouth grew dry.

Her right leg was bent in an unnatural angle. The dancer's dress did nothing to hide the ugly bruises that bloomed on her stomach. One eye was red and black and shut tight.

"...Yusufa…" Barely more than a whisper. That was all she force out.

"Truly, I've been too lenient with both of you if you two thought to pull this off behind my back," Helgenish said. "But no worries. I won't make the same mistake twice."

With another nod, Yusufa was suddenly up in the air. Her blue dress fluttered against the blue of the sky, and for a moment, it seemed as though she stay up there, like a bird ready to fly away.

The moment ended, and Yusufa crashed down into the sands with a scream of pain.

"Yusafa!" Primrose screamed, sound tearing from her throat. 

Primrose was already running towards her in an ungainly scramble, feet tripping in the sands.

But she didn't care about grace. She no longer even thought of the crow man.

Up close, Yusufa was stirring weakly, and Primrose was uncertain if she was moving by her will or convulsing from the agony of her injuries. 

Primrose's mind was blank. Her hands clutched the sand, too frightened to touch Yusufa and add to her pain.

Then a warm light surrounded Yusufa and her breathing evened. The cleric, Primrose thought as she made a wild reach for Yusufa's hand. The cleric could still save Yusufa.

"...I never heard you scream like that before," Yusufa muttered. 

Later, Primrose would wish that she had said something more comforting, more fitting for what Yusufa had done for her.

But at the time, all she could say was, "I told you not to help me. So _why_?"

"Because...we're friends." Something like fear slipped into her eyes. "Prim...we are friends...aren't we?"

Primrose's vision blurred and she tightened her clasp on Yusufa's hand. "...yes."

A tear fell, and Yusufa's expression appeared in clarity. A faint smile was gracing her lips.

The white light continued to surround Yusufa, but Primrose could feel the relaxing hand she was clutching in her own. Just as unexpectedly as she had slipped into her life, Yusufa slipped out of it.

"I'm feeling kind, so I'll give you one more chance."

Primrose looked up. Helgenish had come down from the ridge with his guards. The swordsman had drawn his blade, the merchant her spear, and the scholar held out his hands before him. 

The guards split their attention, but Helgenish was still smiling his greasy smile as he eyed Primrose. Still gazing down at her.

She stood. "This was the last day I worked for you."

The greasy smile shriveled. "What?"

Without another word, Primrose lunged. Her knife flashed out of its sheath.

Two of the hired guards intercepted her, but the rest were too preoccupied with the swordsman and the other two to defend Helgenish. He scuttled back, face white with rage, or perhaps fear from the way his eyes kept darting back to the glint of her knife.

Light shined from the heavens and struck the hired guards. Primrose took the opportunity to slip through them and close in on Helgenish.

The cleric again. How odd for something so bright to take her side today.

How odd for the darkness of Helgenish to have ever frightened her. His sluggish movements, his stumbling steps as he tried to dance away from her blade…

Something like this had killed Yusufa. Had killed so many of them.

The knife slid happily into his neck.

And yet, Primrose felt no happier.

Even watching his blood sink into the sand. Even watching the guards disperse back into the city. Even knowing that now, nothing was left to bind her to Sunshade.

Yusufa's body was like a stone dragging her deeper into an empty pit.

The cleric crouched next to Primrose. "I can help you bury her."

Primrose knew she should refuse. Help didn't come for free, and when it was for her, it simply meant that someone else was paying the price.

But she was tired, and she let the cleric guide her to her feet. Funeral rights echoed among the shifting sands, and Primrose allowed herself to pray.

* * *

That day, it was the cleric who had insisted on following her. When the swordsman, told her, Primrose couldn't understand it. 

The second day dawned, the cleric had bade her good morning as she heated breakfast. Primrose watched as the cleric divided the food into five equal portions, chattering all the while about how the weather was good for traveling and how far did Primrose think she would want to walk today?

"You never gave me an answer," Primrose said.

The cleric blinked. "Pardon?"

"I told you, I'm only on this journey to kill someone. Do you really wish to help someone like that?"

She dropped Primrose's gaze and stared instead at her own clasped hands. Primrose waited.

"You know, Sir Olberic is also on a journey to kill someone," Ophilia said slowly. "I can't say I fully understand what it means, and I know you even less. B-but, I'd like to think you're a good person, and that I'll continue to believe that, so…"

"So flimsy," Primrose sighed.

Ophilia flushed, head shooting up from her nervous droop. "Y-you put me on the spot!"

"You wouldn't feel put on the spot if you had an answer settled."

"There is no need to have a reason to help others," Ophilia said. "There is no answer to settle on."

Silence fell after that until Tressa stirred from her blankets from the scent of hot bread. Her movements awakened Cyrus who would not stop yawning until he had downed several cups of tea. Olberic joined the circle last, brow already dripping with sweat from his morning training even though the Sunlands had yet to truly shine down upon them.

They sat in a circle around the dead firepit, listening to Tressa regale them with the bits and pieces she remembered of her dream.

Primrose found that she had no intention to leave it.

* * *

Ophilia helped everyone.

An apothecary searching for a cure.

A thief waylaid by monsters.

A huntress fighting a wild-eyed beast.

One by one the circle grew, a rough circle cobbled together from various pieces that should not have fit. Tressa had eyed Therion with disdain for days, Alfyn wasn't sure what to make of her and Olberic's revenge, but always, Ophilia would smooth it out and the circle would hold. 

Even those who insisted upon drifting on the outer edges were pulled in by Ophilia. It was as inevitable as Ophilia stopping her journey to help unrelated passerby. 

The Kindling was a long journey that circled the churches of Orsterra, it could take a year even if all went well. Ophilia spoke at times of the Archbishop who had adopted her. Behind the usual gentle smile, Primrose could see lines of worry. The journey was originally meant to be undertaken by the Archbishop's daughter, but he had fallen gravely ill, and she thought it best for family to remain by his side. She wished to complete her journey soon.

Yet even so, Ophilia couldn't seem to help herself.

They had already finished their business in Saintsbridge church, but rather than moving on to the next town, Primrose found Ophilia was dirtying her knees in the town square as she crawled about, searching for something.

"I'm guessing you're caught up in something again," Primrose said, amused. Ophilia jolted and bumped her head against the bench she had been peeking under. "Does Aelfric compel you to get involved in everyone's problems?"

"His light guides my hand," Ophilia replied seriously before breaking into a giggle. "But perhaps it's guiding me a little too much into others' matters."

"What were you looking for?"

"Oh! I met a child, Emil, and there was a misunderstanding between him and--"

Primrose watched Ophilia's face as she explained everything that lead up to her crawling around the square in search of a stranger's brooch. There was genuine worry in it, and a determination to set things right.

Even for matters like this, Ophilia was fully invested. She was pouring herself into this matter and giving it the same amount of effort she poured into everything else. Her enthusiasm shined.

Primrose supposed that was why she was drawn to Ophilia's light like a moth to a flame. At times, she almost wished that she had that light, that the gods would guide her along as well.

"Well then, let me join you," Primrose said, crouching down. "It'll be faster with two."

Ophilia beamed and for a second, Primrose thought she could understand why Ophilia would extend herself to help so many.

* * *

When she was with Ophilia, the gods feel close. Tangible. Of course this world is beloved by the gods, just as the church said, when such kind people fill the lands.

And when she saw priests like that one who groveled before the crow man for a woman to prey upon, her stomach twisted and she thought that anyone who claimed to hear the guidance of Aelfric was a conman--how could the gods not have abandoned them when such people filled the lands?

Primrose had sneered at him as he scuttled away, unwilling to be caught between her and the crow man. She was glad that she came alone. It was better for Ophilia to not see a priest like that. 

One of the crow men was in Stillsnow after all.

Rufus. Left arm of the crow.

She was glad that he was the one she met first; her order could be preserved.

But even after her dagger had slipped between his ribcage, even after she had given it a satisfying twist--the crow man was still smiling. He looked more pleased than she felt.

He laughed heartily, even though each sound was accompanied by a cough of blood. "Go back to Noblecourt," he rasped. "See for yourself what the truth is."

Primrose's heart skipped a beat. The crow man collapsed at her feet, a sneer still on his lips.

The thought struck her again.

 _Foolish girl, you should have stayed in Noblecourt_.

* * *

She went to Goldshore instead.

There were matters to attend to elsewhere, she told herself. Haa'nit had needed to go to Stoneguard, and Tressa to Quarrycrest. Now Ophilia needed to be in Goldshore, and Ophilia's journey had a much stricter timer than hers.

But when Therion had had business in Noblecourt and the party split in two, she had chosen to accompany Olberic to Victor's Hollow. The annual tournament could hold more information about the crow men she had told herself.

Yet when Olberic was the only one who left Victor's Hollow with a lead, Primrose hadn't been surprised at all.

She had already known that Victor's Hollow would hold nothing for her. 

_Faith will be your shield_.

But now that shield was cracked.

She thought of those men in the cave who had killed themselves without hesitation after Ophilia had taken back the child. Their faith had made them place their lives in another's hands, dragged them to their death. Would hers do the same? Primrose gritted her teeth.

"Primrose?"

Primrose glanced up to see Ophilia standing in front of her. The others were waiting up the road. "Sorry, I must have kept you all waiting."

Ophilia shook her head. "It's no trouble at all, but...are you alright? You seem a little distracted."

"It's more remarkable that you aren't after everything we saw."

"We must stay steady in front of the child," Ophilia said, nodding towards the girl they had saved. The girl still appeared to be a bit shaken, but she giggled at something Alfyn said.

"You should be more careful. It seems that that "Savior" will get involved with you before long." Primrose snorted. " _Savior_. Sounds like a new god walks among us."

Ophilia smiled weakly. "The path of the Savior is not Aelfric's way. Not any of the gods' way."

Primrose looked away. "I don't think I'll ever understand putting my faith in something like that. In the end, the only thing you can have faith in is yourself. When there's nothing else, you're the only one who can pull yourself from the pit."

"Then you've chosen the hardest path for yourself." Primrose looked back at Ophilia, who was still smiling a gentle smile. "I think that's an admirable strength, Primrose."

Primrose looked away again, lips pursed. There was nothing to admire at all. She had said some fine words, but the words rang hollow when she couldn't even bring herself to go to Noblecourt.

"But you'll let us help, won't you?" Ophilia said.

_Prim, it's alright. I want to help._

The dead danced around her. Yusufa's blue dress fluttered. 

It was the same as back then. All her anger, all her cracked faith, and only Yusufa's help could make her move against the fear that held her back.

Primrose clenched her fists. She wouldn't let a friend pay the price again. She would move by her own will. 

"Of course," Primrose replied with practiced brightness. 

If Ophilia noticed anything, she didn't comment.

* * *

It was rare that Ophilia separated from them. Therion often slunk away on his own business, but Ophilia never went off alone. 

The night before was the exception. The archbishop's daughter had appeared at the church, face sullen as the sky before a storm. She had pulled Ophilia to the side and the two had left the church together.

And then Ophilia never returned to her room.

"Hmmm, no I'm afraid there is no guest under the name _Lianna_ ," the innkeeper said as she shut the logbook. "Perhaps they are in the Glittering Sands down the road?"

"I see, thank you," Primrose said. 

"Rather than searching blindly, it may be more appropriate to ask Archbishop Donovan," Cyrus said. "Lianna had arrived at the church before us. Perhaps she had spoken to the Archbishop."

"Wow, this is great timing." Tressa gestured from the window. "Look! Isn't that him?"

It was, and headed towards the inn. The Archbishop looked slightly taken aback to see them gathered in the inn lobby, but quickly skipped the pleasantries. "Please, come with me."

Primrose's mouth felt dry as they followed Archbishop Donovan to another inn. It wasn't the Glittering Sands after all. Lianna had chosen an inn at the edge of town far from the city center where they had been staying. 

It was a small building, likely housing less than three rooms. Primrose wouldn't have been surprised if their group of eight was the largest number of people received by the inn at a time.

An odd choice for one who could afford lodgings closer to the church.

Archbishop Donovan pushed open a creaking door to a room at the back of the inn. Ophilia sat in the bed alone, staring at her hands. She turned at the sound of the door opening.

"You're alright!" Tressa said happily, rushing to throw her arms around Ophilia.

Ophilia smiled weakly. "Sorry, did I make you worry?"

Lianna was nowhere to be seen, but the two cups of tea on the table meant that she had been here earlier with Ophilia. Cold tea, with only a single cup drunken. 

Primrose narrowed her eyes as she took in the room one more time. "Ophilia...where's your Kindling lantern?"

"Huh?!" Tressa let go of Ophilia to look around, and without her grasp, Ophilia seemed to sink into herself.

"...Lianna took it."

* * *

The Archbishop that had raised Ophilia had passed away. Lianna had come to tell Ophilia, and as Ophilia discovered, to take the Kindling ember. 

Before the drugged tea had taken effect, Ophilia had heard them mention the village of Whispermill. As soon as Ophilia could stand, she gathered what remained and insisted that they set off at once. Alfyn had protested, but Ophilia had already walked out the door and they were left with little choice but to follow after.

Even when the moon rose high and the embers of the campfire died, Ophilia sat at its edges, chin rested on her knees, staring at the dimming light. Primrose threw aside her blankets and moved to sit beside her.

"She thinks that it can help His Excellency," Ophilia muttered without looking. "It's impossible...I don't understand how--no, I should've been there for her. Anna...Anna must be in so much pain…"

"You are too, aren't you?" Primrose said.

"It's different for me. That was her father."

"He was your father as well."

Ophilia froze, eyes slightly widened.

"He raised you, he taught you, he loved you," Primrose said. "That's what a father does, isn't it?"

"...yes."

"Your sister loves you as well." Primrose put an arm around Ophilia's shoulder. "I'm sure she would want you to be by her side even now. It's not too late."

Primrose felt Ophilia tremble. 

"...yes."

* * *

Noblecourt was the last major settlement before the journey to Whispermill. It was unsurprising that they chose to stop there for a few days to gather provisions and rest.

It was tempting to simply stay in the inn and pretend that it was another city, but Primrose forced herself to leave and see it for what it was.

The bakery with the sweet sticky crossbuns that her father had loved still sent it's warm scents wafting into the air. The river where Jan had tumbled in after bragging that he could walk along the bridge parapet without falling still flowed through the center of the city. 

She leaned back against the parapet, letting the mumble of the crowds and rush of the river lull her. 

Someone whispered about the increasing number of thieves in the city.

Primrose sighed. So, things did change after all.

"Lady Primrose?"

She turned to see a finely dressed young man with long silver hair knotted in a braid. He stared at her wide eyed, as if she was a ghost.

She knew she was doing the same. It was impossible how unchanged he looked. "S-simeon!"

The young man's face split into awed smile, and Primrose felt her heart skip a beat. "To think the first person I meet upon returning to Noblecourt is _you_." He reached out hesitantly, brushing a finger against her arm. With a laugh, he reached down to grasp her hand. "Years now I've wondered about your whereabouts...I thought...I thought I would never see you again." He squeezed. "Where did you go?"

Primrose swallowed. "I'm sorry...I...I can't say."

The joy faded from Simeon's face. "I see...then as I feared…"

"Let's not speak of it," Primrose said firmly. "What of you? Have you been well?"

Simeon had become a playright. They spoke of his work, his dramas and poetry. She had smiled in memory of the poems that he had written for her. Jan had always stuck his tongue out at them, but she had thought them wonderful.

So they spoke of the past, of his future, always dancing around the gap of her ten years.

At last, as the sun began to set, Simeon took her hand in his once more. "I don't need to know what you did in the past ten years but…if there is anything that you need now, I swear, I will do my utmost to help you."

For a moment, Primrose felt like she was fourteen again, crying in the gardens with Simeon comforting her. But the moment passed, and she simply thanked him with her practiced smile. 

As she watched him walk away, she thought of what it could have been like to stay in Noblecourt. Perhaps Simeon would've stayed for her, perhaps…

She shook herself. The day was already nearing its end, and she had yet to gather any information.

* * *

She hung about at the edges of the cemetery, unable to take another step closer. She had bought flowers, but now that she had arrived, she was at a loss for what to say once she stood before her father's grave. Flowers were nothing. It was the same as being empty handed.

Only one crow wasn't enough to lay before his grave. It wasn't enough to make him see her like this, so changed from the child that danced before him.

"Lady Primrose!"

Ghosts were everything today, it seemed. Tears stung her eyes. The ten years had aged him, unlike Simeon, but Revello Forsythe was still as warm as she remembered as he pulled her into an embrace.

Anna Forsythe too cried at the sight of Primrose. The estate was just as she remembered. Primrose half expected Jan to burst in, late for supper as always, but he was apparently away from Noblecourt on estate business.

"Has all been well with you?" Primrose asked.

Anna's mouth became a thin line. "Noblecourt has changed since you left, Lady Primrose."

Power no longer belonged to the noble houses. It belonged to a group called the Obsidians.

After searching for years, Revello finally connected them to the murder of her father.

If she hadn't already been sitting, Primrose was certain that she would've collapsed. After ten years, she finally had the true name for her father's murderers. 

They had been Noblecourt.

Why had she left? Why had she gone to Sunshade at all? Why--

Primrose swallowed back a scream. 

She stood. "Take me to them."

* * *

There were so many ghosts in Noblecourt, she almost wasn't shocked at all when the crow man was a ghost himself. Revello would barely stutter out the man's name.

 _Albus_. Her father's right hand man. The one who had sold him out to attach himself to another.

Just that alone was enough to make the rage burn inside her, but then he mocked her father.

"He really thought his _faith_ could shield this city from the Obsidians," he sneered.

Primrose couldn't properly remember what she did next. White hot rage burned within her intensely until everything faded out. Only Albus was there, and it was like he moved in slow motion.

Primrose stabbed him once. 

Then once more.

And again until his uncovered eye could no longer see.

And yet again, until his movements stopped completely.

Distantly, she could hear Revello tell her that she had fought well. It wasn't enough. This wasn't enough.

In a daze, she stumbled into the hallway.

She had proven her father right, hadn't she? Albus was dead, the obsidians would die by her hand. The faith of the Azelharts would protect Noblecourt.

So then why wasn't it enough?

No...why had she left Noblecourt? Why had she gone to Sunshade? 

Memories rose like a fever, and Primrose leaned against the wall for support.

Her father dead. The city guards running about. Her listening for any snippet of information she could. Simeon taking pity on her efforts and telling her about what the guards had discovered.

_They say that a man with a crow tattoo is often spotted in Sunshade. Don't worry my love, they will certainly find the men soon._

Simeon had smiled warmly at her then.

Simeon was smiling warmly at her now.

"A beautiful performance," he said.

Primrose blinked. "Thank...you--what are you doing here?"

"I told you I would do anything you needed, didn't I?" His hand rose to the collar of his shirt and undid a button. 

"Well, I'm here to fulfill that request." Another button. "I heard you were looking for me, Lady Primrose." 

Primrose stared at Simeon's neck.

A crow tattoo.

Simeon still smiled warmly at her.

The space between her stomach and ribs suddenly felt white hot. Even more so than the rage she had felt, so hot she felt like she was going to vomit.

Primrose glanced down to see the knife stabbed into her. Simeon pulled it out, and the pain seared through Primrose. She wanted to scream, but all that came out was a garbled cry, drowning in the blood gushing up her mouth. The white pain spread to her vision, and then Primrose saw nothing.

* * *

She was twelve, begging for Simeon to stay with her for a little longer.

Simeon simply smiled. _Of course, I will always be watching you, Lady Primrose._

* * *

Her vision was blurred when she opened her eyes again. Every part of her body ached. She tried to shift into a sitting position, and couldn't move an inch before the pain in her abdomen collapsed her back in bed. 

Primrose clenched her teeth and tried again.

"Alfyn! She's awake!" she heard Ophilia say.

"Ah! Don't let her move! Don't let her move!"

Gentle hands settled her back into bed. Her vision cleared, and Primrose saw Ophilia's face hovering over her. Dark bags rimmed Ophilia's reddened eyes.

She was soon replaced by Alfyn, who lifted her head to pour some sort of liquid into her mouth.

"That'll do it," Alfyn said as he set her back down. "The worst has passed."

"Then go get some rest, Alfyn. I can watch Primrose."

Before he could protest, a yawn escaped from Alfyn's mouth and he left after making Ophilia promise to wake him when the next bandage change was needed.

Ophilia settled back into the chair by Primrose's bedside. Alfyn's was now emptied. Primrose wondered how long she and Alfyn had sat there waiting.

"Where--"

"You're in Sir Forsythe's estate. Therion saw him bringing you out of a building." Ophilia's frowned. "Therion said that he expected you to be doing something dangerous since you went off alone. Do you really, every time?"

Primrose closed her eyes.

"Primrose--"

"Sorry. This will slow your journey won't it?"

"That's not what matters right now!" Ophilia shouted, and the ring of it made Primrose flinch. "I wanted to help you--we _all_ wanted to help you--"

"Help me do what? I'll ask again Ophilia; are you really offering to help me commit murder?" She laughed. "Or maybe you really did seek to change my mind."

Ophilia was silent.

"Ah ah, perhaps that would've been better," Primrose said bitterly. "Not everyone is blessed to be guided by the gods themselves. You're lucky the gods hear your pleas--the only thing that appeared to guide me was a demon."

Simeon had killed her father. Simeon had shown her the path to Sunshade. Perhaps Simeon was even mapping her revenge, step by step. 

She was just a puppet dancing on his strings, thinking that her dance was her own.

Primrose laughed, each breath stabbing at her stomach, but even the pain wasn't enough to make it stop. "...it was all for nothing. Everything I endured, Yusufa's death--none of it was necessary!"

"Primrose, please your wound--"

"This path was wrong all along! I should've never left Noblecourt, I--"

There was a pressure on her shoulders as Ophilia held her down, trying to minimize the shaking running through her body.

"I would've helped you, even if it meant helping you kill them," Ophilia said.

Primrose stilled. Ophilia's gaze was steady.

"Why--"

"Because I know who you are, Primrose, and if this is the choice you've made after years of consideration, then I will trust the path you've chosen."

Primrose turned away. "Stop it. It wasn't even my choices--"

"Do you not wish to avenge your father?" Ophilia said. 

"Do you wish you had never met Yusufa?" Primrose's fingers curled.

"...Do you wish you had never met us?" 

"That's not it!" Primrose cried, hands rising to her face to cover her eyes.

A pause. Ophilia loosened her grasp from Primrose's shoulders to run a hand along Primrose's forehead. Her voice was gentle. Soothing.

"The gods don't tell me what path is right or wrong. If Lianna hadn't saved me after my family died, I know I would've shut myself away for the rest of my life. I didn't want to look, I didn't want to think about how much it hurt."

"But you're not like how I was then Primrose. You've been putting all your effort into this, haven't you? You haven't tried to hide from the things that hurt you. That's why I know that it's not wrong for you to be the person you are. I wish it wasn't a path of thorns, but where you've arrived isn't meaningless."

* * *

When Mattias paraded Lianna before Ophilia, saying aloud words that must've been thought in the darkest corners of her mind, Ophilia didn't flinch.

Lianna _had_ betrayed Ophilia. Lianna _had_ cried that Ophilia didn't understand her, even if it was from a desperate despair.

But Ophilia had seen who Lianna was when she pulled Ophilia from her grieving room and to the hill the rose above Stillsnow. She knew that Lianna loved her. That Lianna could be saved.

Faith was her shield.

And Primrose felt then that it could become hers as well. If her shield was chipped with doubts, then Ophilia's faith could help it mend.

* * *

Primrose watched the play of her life be acted before her. She heard for the first time, the words her mother had spoken at her birth. Recalled the words her father had said to her when she was too small to fully commit it to memory.

It was true. Her life had been carefully watched all along, maybe even pushed by his machinations.

Simeon smiled as if he already knew what she was thinking.

"We'll wait outside," Ophilia said, giving Primrose's shoulder a squeeze. 

Primrose nodded and the other travelers slipped out of the theater box.

Simeon was the one on his knees, shoulder already bleeding from her strike, and escape path blocked by seven other people even if he did manage to slip past her. Yet, he was calm.

"Come now Primrose, you know that this is all for naught. Leave it be. You know your father wouldn't want you to continue like this. It's been an amusing path to watch you follow, but do you really want to find what I've laid for you at the end?"

Primrose ran a finger along her dagger. "I know my father would forgive me. I know my friends have already accepted me. I'm not afraid of what lies at the end. Simeon...aren't you the one who fears it?"

To his credit, his leery smile didn't betray the quick flash of fear that flitted across his eyes.

"You laid out this path for me, but I was the one who walked it. The thing I've found at the end is quite different from what you intended, isn't it?" The dagger traced from Simeon's jaw, down his neck, leaving a thin trail of blood where it traveled. "No one else should ever have to be your puppet. That is my answer."

The dagger stopped above Simeon's heart, the tip just barely pressed enough to cut through his coat and dig into his flesh when he exhaled. Still, Simeon's gaze didn't leave Primrose's face, and the smile stayed unchanging.

An actor to the end. "Beautiful," he said.

Primrose stabbed.

And then Simeon was the puppet, and with his strings cut, he fell to the floor.

* * *

Her father's grave was carefully cleaned of weeds and vines. Revello had done a good job of maintaining it.

"I'm sorry for not coming earlier," Primrose said as she laid out twelve candles before the grave. "Ophilia, could you please?"

"Of course." Ophilia kneeled beside her. 

A child was supposed to light the way to the next world for their parents as a priest recited the prayers. She had lost the opportunity to do so at the funeral ten years ago, but she wouldn't let the opportunity slip now.

Ophilia's voice was soft and low, as wispy as the smoke rising from the candles that Primrose lit. It wasn't anything like the grand funeral she was certain the city had held, it was just a small warm thing that twisted around her and put her at ease. Primrose closed her eyes, and for a long while, they sat side by side in silence.

"I'm sure your father is proud of you," Ophilia said as the candles burned down.

"And yours of you."

Ophilia let out a short laugh. "You're just repeating my compliment!"

"Doesn't make it any less true."

A warm smile slid onto Ophilia's face. After a moment, she asked, "What will you do next?"

"I'm not sure," Primrose said, watching the candleflame dance. "It feels empty without revenge after ten years of living for it."

"Primrose…"

Primrose gave Ophilia a reassuring smile. "It's a good empty. There's plenty of space for future, isn't there?"

One on a new path. A fresh start.

The candles flickered out.

**Author's Note:**

> Could not think of a good summary for this. This ended up being more of retelling of Primrose's story more than anything, so despite it focusing mostly on the relationship between her and Ophilia, it ended up having Simeon too.....


End file.
